Blood Eagle
by CrumbsUK
Summary: The CSIs assist LVPD in rounding up a notorious gang in an intense stake-out at a local nightclub. Whilst doing this, they uncover a body which ends up reopening a cold case, as well as a dark chapter into Greg's heritage. Chronicles of Las Vegas - 1x06
1. Part 1 of 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or its affiliated characters. Characters not in the series are my own.**

**A/N: This is the sixth story in my series, **_**Chronicles of Las Vegas**_**. Whilst it's not necessary to read all the previous stories to understand this one, I'd highly recommend reading **_**Crunch Time**_** (1x02) first of all in order to fully understand the context of this one. :)**

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><p>Lights flickered around the room with a dazzling array of purples, blues, reds and many more colours, music pumped out of speakers strategically placed around the club, along it to pulsate through the bodies which lined the dance floor. The floor was packed full of party-goers, it was particularly busy for a Thursday night but that only heightened the atmosphere in the club. Whilst many were just there for the music and the dancing, many ladies danced around in their most revealing attire and the shortest skirts they could find, hoping to be taken away by a prince. Likewise, men dressed in their coolest clothes roamed the dance floor searching for their ideal lady to bed, like animals looking to court.<p>

The lower levels of the club consisted of the bar area where those less confident on the dance floor could try and play their game, offering to buy their chosen mate a drink or by trying to play things smoothly. A small seating area surrounded the bar where groups of friends sat there drinking shots and partaking in various drinking games, whilst over to the far end of the club sat a large group of people in what could be described as the VIP circle taking part in their own drinking session, flanked by bouncers.

As the DJ changed the song, the people on the dance floor screamed with joy as one of the summer's most popular dance songs began to blast from the speakers and the pillars of neon lights which lined the club began to flash with a rainbow of bright colours.

A group of seven large Hispanic men entered the club and quickly seized an available seating booth near to the bar. The group consisted of a variety of characters, most of them muscular, intimidating and loudly boasting about the amount of drugs they'd consumed over the day and began playfully fighting each other.

One of the men got up from the table and made his way to the bar. He looked to be one of the older members of his group with large, beady brown eyes, a reasonably sized nose and he sported a thin goatee. He ordered a round of tequila for his group and sat down on a stool waiting for his order to come through. Out of the corner of his eye, he felt himself being watched and he turned his head to the left and saw there was a woman watching him from two stools down. She looked at him teasingly with her brown eyes and he noticed she was wearing a royal blue dress which didn't quite extend below the knees.

She saw him looking at her and stood up from her stool, leaving the man disappointed only to be rejoined by that same woman who sat down on the stool next to him. He took a moment to take in her elusive scent, sweet and refreshing although its components were not identifiable. She tossed back her curled, brown, shoulder length hair and smiled at him. A noticeable gap in her teeth, but it didn't detract from her beauty much; he made a mental note to himself.

"Can I get you anything?" He asked the woman.

She shrugged her shoulders, "surprise me," was all she said. He couldn't quite determine her accent, although it certainly wasn't from around these areas. He ordered another shot of tequila for his new mysterious admirer. When he turned to face again, he noticed she had taken a particular interest into his left arm.

"You like what you see?" He asked, indicating to the many tattoos which snaked up to his shoulder. She nodded eagerly. "They're just a teaser," he commented pointing to his chest, "the real stuff's all here."

"I'll show you mine, if you show me yours," she teased pulling off her left shoe to reveal a small, modest flower tattoo just above her left ankle.

He snorted to himself, _this was too easy_, "check out this baby," he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a large tattoo deciphering a large cross engulfed in fire, an angel soaring up from the inferno. She clearly looked impressed as she placed her hand on his chest and touched it.

"Put your shirt back on, sir," the bartender snapped at him, handing out his drinks. The man apologised and quickly buttoned up his shirt, his female admirer giggling to herself. He took her by the arm and escorted her back to his seating booth.

They were just leaving the bar when suddenly he felt somebody stumble and suddenly he felt moderately soaked as he realised he'd spilled his drinks over him. He turned around and saw a young, blonde man get a hold of his footing. He looked rather scrawny; he could easily beat him in a fight. "Hey," he called out furiously. "You gonna pay for those punk?"

He walked over and grabbed the man by the shirt, even though this guy was taller, he didn't look like the fighting type. The man looked at him apologetically, "I'm sorry sir, I'll go and get you another."

"You gonna get me a new shirt too?" He shook the man angrily.

"Yeah sure, just let me go." He felt a hand get placed on his shoulder; he saw it was his newly acquired date, pulling him away from a possible fight. She ruffled her hair and looked at him disapprovingly.

Then he felt another hand on his shoulder, this one had a much firmer grip and in an instant he was spun round and face to face with a large, black man. Suddenly he felt himself feel a little insecure and started to wriggle free. "Don't. Move," the black man said in a deep voice, "do what I say, and nobody gets hurt."

"I ain't taking no orders from no negro," he spat and broke free of the firm grip.

He began running towards the front door of the club, trying to get away, but he was suddenly thrown off his feet and onto the floor as he felt someone fall on top of him. He felt his hands restrained with cold handcuffs and was suddenly aware that amongst the rife party atmosphere, things were about to get even wilder.

* * *

><p>Lou Vartann observed the nightclub slightly from afar. Donning a baseball cap and keeping out of sight of the gang of seven he closely watched, waiting for the opportune moment. He saw Greg stumble and spill his drink on their target, followed by the target grabbing Greg by the shirt, although he couldn't make out their conversation over the noise of the music.<p>

Sara put a hand on the target's shoulder and watched her ruffle her hair, signalling Ray to take leave his seat from the bar, who grabbed the target and began talking to him. Behind Ray he could saw Greg sort out his collar. That was his signal to descend upon the table; slowly and cautiously he headed towards the table consisting of the six men, still unaware of the situation surrounding them.

Suddenly, he saw the target had broken free of his grip and had made a beeline for the exit. Vartann quickly picked up his radio and shouted into it, "Go! Go!" He watched as Officer Mitchell dived upon the escaping suspect, taking him down to the ground and cuffing him. Like a herd of headless chickens, their assailants suddenly leapt into action as they fled their seating booth. The chase was on.

Vartann saw a suspect heading right towards him, before they could reach the emergency he pulled the suspect away, slamming him down on the table and successfully cuffing him. _Two down, five to go_, he thought to himself. Out of the corner of his eye he saw another suspect avoid capture by Officer Metcalf and run past Officer Mitchell still attending to the first target.

Seeing that the suspect was able to get through the double doors, Vartann picked up his radio again, "Captain, we have a four-forty escaped via Exit Alpha."

"I'm on it Lou," was Brass' reply.

* * *

><p>"Go! Go!"<p>

Nick heard Vartann's radio call and immediately sprung into action. From his position on the dance floor he could see four of the suspects push through the crowd, people yelped as they were shoved aside, drinks went askew and the palpitating music and shimmering lights only made the situation so much more difficult to get a hold of.

Detective Vega was able to tackle one of the suspects to the ground, knocking him completely off his feet and pinning him up to the wall. Ripping off his fake moustache and wig, Nick pursued the remaining three suspects through the back rooms of the nightclub, following two more officers. One suspect dived into a room where the only escape was a two-storey drop into a dumpster whilst another made their way out through the ladies bathrooms, only to be stunned by a female officer, who had been strategically lying in wait.

This left just one more suspect for Nick to chase, darting along the narrow hallways away from the main club area. The suspect suddenly headed upstairs into areas which had been cordoned off to the public. Nick grabbed his gun, following the suspect up the stairs and continuing to chase him. Just as he was about to turn a corridor, he felt a sharp pain as a fist suddenly appeared from nowhere, making a harsh contact with his nose. Nick felt himself fall backwards and slumped against the wall, feeling the blood trickle down from his nostrils.

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><p>"Captain, we have a four-forty escaped via Exit Alpha," Brass, sat in his car heard Vartann call down the radio.<p>

He watched the suspect turn into the side alley where he had parked his motorcycle, and where Brass sat waiting. He radioed back, "I'm on it, Lou," put on the flashing lights and the sirens and drove towards the suspect.

In a panic he saw the suspect hastily jump on the motorcycle and kick-start the vehicle. Before Brass could block the suspect's path, the motorcycle jolted forwards and began speeding onto the streets of Vegas. Brass swore to himself and floored the gas and sharply turning left onto the main road following his suspect whilst narrowly avoiding a collision with an unsuspecting blue van.

Up ahead he could see the suspect weaving in and out of the traffic which lined the streets, heading towards the centre of Las Vegas. The traffic parted for Brass as he sped up to catch the suspect. _He can't get away this time_, Brass thought as he executed a perfect handbrake turn after the suspect made a surprise exit to a backstreet on the right. Then to the left, and another left, and another right.

Images flashed through Brass' mind, _he was chasing a red Ford Fiesta through the streets of Las Vegas, they stopped, there was a flash of light and suddenly everything went silent_. Brass shook the images out of his head, realising that his target was getting away. He saw the motorcycle turn off at an intersection further up and Brass decided to head him off, taking a short cut he knew well.

He pulled out of the side street just as the motorcycle passed by, startling the rider who swerved abruptly to the right colliding with a truck which had just pulled out of a road on the right. The motorcycle slid underneath the truck, hitting the sidewalk and coming to a stop. The rider was less lucky; the force of the collision sent him catapulting into the wall of the building, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

Brass screeched to a halt and hopped out the car, ignoring the truck driver's panic that he'd hit someone. Pulling out his gun, Brass stepped out behind the lorry where he saw the motorcycle lying on its side, considerably damaged. Some twenty metres away he saw the body of his target lying slumped against the wall in a pool of blood. Motionless.

* * *

><p>"Nick... Nick! Are you alright?"<p>

Nick blinked, realising that Catherine's voice was coming from his radio. He quickly looked around, seeing he was slumped up against the wall and heavily breathing. He realised he must have been momentarily winded and his finger was pressing transmit on his radio. He quickly responded back, "yeah, I'm fine."

Hearing footsteps move quickly above him he sprung to his feet and followed the corridor round until he reached another staircase. Ensuring he wouldn't be caught unaware again he jumped up the stairs three at a time and paused a moment before turning the corner. He saw the suspect a little way ahead, having erroneously thought that he'd gotten away from Nick. Upon seeing Nick, he quickly took off again, heading to a door which led outside. Nick followed him and realised they'd used the fire escape.

He saw the suspect climb up the stairs towards the top of the building, fortunately for Nick, the suspect seemed pretty stupid. Nick followed him upwards, gun raised. After climbing three storeys he had finally came face to face with the suspect, who now stood cornered between Nick and the railings preceding a five storey drop. The suspect took one look at Nick and put his left foot onto the railings, readying himself to jump.

"On your knees," Nick barked at him. Hesitating whether to jump or comply, the suspect slowly dropped to his knees where Nick promptly cuffed him. The suspect suddenly lashed out with his foot but not before Nick could whip him around the head with his pistol. "You see that's why you don't run from cops, jackass."

Nick hauled the suspect to his feet but not before he noticed a foul stench which even managed to infiltrate through his nostrils despite the blood. He heard a faint buzzing, one which he recognised. Nick quickly looked around and saw nothing. He dragged the suspect down the first flight of stairs where he found the source of the smell and the source of the blowflies. He dragged his suspect over to one side, cuffing him to a railing and pulled out his radio.

"Control, I'm on the fire escape on the fifth floor... I'm gonna need a coroner."

* * *

><p>Brass returned to the side alley where he had began his pursuit of the motorcycle suspect, walking alongside Catherine towards the back of a van, which had been used during the stake-out as a control centre. "Okay, we have five of our suspects in custody; one's been taken for Desert Palms with minor injuries."<p>

"How did that occur?" Catherine asked, concerned that any sign of police brutality could lose a conviction with their case.

"Jumped out a window, missed the dumpster, let's just say his inability to reproduce will do the world a huge favour," Brass said without a care in his voice, "finally we've got one deceased. The motorcyclist collided with a truck. Paramedics pronounced twenty minutes ago."

"You'll be fine, don't worry," Catherine sensed the anxiety in Brass' voice as he had a partial responsibility to the biker's death.

"Yeah. Oh and now we have the added complication of a four-nineteen out the back of the venue, although it seems unrelated to our boys here."

"What makes you think that?"

"According to Nick, the signatures are similar to an unsolved case from about four weeks ago, not related to Los Ángeles de la Muerte."

"Alright, I'll speak to Conrad; get another one of my guys on the case."

"We can't afford to let these guys slip away again. Knowing them, they'd have got good lawyers, this case is a priority."

* * *

><p>"I'll show you mine if you show me yours?" Ray teased Sara as the two of them walked down the back alley of the nightclub towards where they would be debriefed by Ecklie and Catherine.<p>

"Well, it worked," Sara pointed out, "that was too easy, I can't believe we've been chasing these morons for so long. Hey Greggo, how are you shaping up?"

"Fine," Greg responded merrily, joining his colleagues as they walked towards the black van which Catherine and Ecklie had used as control, "I thought for a second you were gonna let that guy beat me to a pulp."

"Oh it was tempting," Sara said with jest as they stopped by the doors of the van. Ecklie emerged from the van, stopping his conversation with Catherine.

"Okay guys," he addressed the three of them, "good work tonight, but we've got a bit of a situation here. Another four-nineteen was called in, the body's on the premises, Stokes is currently processing it as well and I'd like someone else with him."

As expected, the three CSIs were not keen on working on a new case, particularly as they had all been chasing this gang down all week. Seeing that nobody was volunteering, Greg sighed and raised his hand, "I'll do it," his voice sounded rather unenthusiastically.

"Thanks Sanders," Ecklie replied, he handed Greg his own collection kit, "take this, Officer Mitchell will escort you to the scene." The three watched as Greg was led away from the scene to go and join Nick, Ecklie turned back to the two remaining CSIs and quickly gave them a word of warning. "Just a warning, these guys are tough, they'll have good lawyers and now they know you work for us they won't go easy on you. Remember, they're very familiar with the law and Vegas' cops, that's why we brought you guys in tonight."

Sara seemed unphased by Ecklie's comments, declaring proudly, "let's bring them down."

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><p>Nick felt a peculiar sense of déjà vu overpower him as he looked at the body. Like one he had seen four weeks previously, the abdomen had been sliced open with a Y-incision, the flaps of skin opening up and revealing the internal organs inside. Just like with the case of Joseph Huyt, there was very little blood surrounding him which immediately suggested that he had been killed somewhere else and dumped.<p>

However there were distinct differences within this case, whereas Joseph Huyt was Caucasian, this victim was black, probably African American. Unlike Joseph Huyt, who was wearing jogging clothes when he was killed, this victim was wearing a business suit and the shirt had been ripped off. The final noticeable difference was that whilst the body looked to have undergone an autopsy just as in the previous case, this time, Nick noticed that the victim's rib cage looked as if it had been ripped open, completely exposing the chest cavity to the elements.

"I'm afraid I can't give you an accurate time of death," David said sadly, "liver temperature will be compromised due to exposure and it looks like this body has been dumped so lividity will be no use. I can tell you the body is not in rigor mortis which suggests he's been dead a while, at least twelve hours. That's all I can give you, sorry."

"Don't worry about it David," Nick commented, observing the blowflies, "I don't see any larvae infesting the body, I don't think he's been dead any more than twenty four hours anyway."

"There's some sort of adhesive residue on his wrists," David noted, "just like with Joseph Huyt. There's some on this guy's ankles as well."

"He looks like a pretty tough guy, obviously needed some more restraint."

David rummaged through the pockets in the victim's suit and pants, pulling out a wallet and handing it to Nick, "wallet found in the victim's pants, just like the other victim."

"I have credit cards here," Nick commented, flicking through the wallet. "Cash, receipts, no signs of robbery, this is just like the other case. Our victim's name is Matthew Ellis, forty-one years old and a resident of Las Vegas."

"Oh good, so we're not gonna be chasing up people in Victorville this time." David zipped up the corpse into a body bag, taking extra care not to move the ribs at all. Wheeling the gurney down the flight of stairs, he told Nick cheerfully, "scene's all yours now. Don't forget to come and pay us a visit."

"Thanks David," Nick called out. As David descended the staircase, another figure could be seen climbing it, passing the gurney as he arrived at the scene. "Hey Greg," Nick called out to his colleague.

"Aww, I missed the body didn't I," Greg said, sounding disappointed.

"Yep, it was pretty gruesome," Nick replied, "you know what, you can go down to autopsy later, I've seen enough guts today."

"Fair enough," Greg smirked. "You found anything so far?"

"Well, we suspect it's a body dump, there's not a single drop in sight which wasn't contained to the body."

"So what are we looking for, a gun? A knife?"

"A knife, or, possibly a boxcutter," Nick recalled that Doc Robbins had said that the wound was caused by something precise and shallow, he had even specified a boxcutter as possible weapon then. "This guy was hacked open."

"Lovely," Greg replied sarcastically, spraying luminal around the balcony area. No apparent reaction had taken place. "How depressing, not even a droplet of blood."

"I'm thinking that the killer must have accessed the scene using the escape staircases round the back of the club. Dumping a body is pretty noticeable, the killer wouldn't have risked being caught going through the nightclub, even in the daytime."

"I guess that leaves us with a big problem then."

"What?"

"The only way to access these stairs from the main road is to go round the side alley... which is where half the cops in Vegas are currently standing around. I don't think we're going to get any shoe impressions, tire treads etcetera."

Nick suddenly recalled the evening's events and felt his stomach tie itself in a knot. "I chased a suspect up these staircases earlier. Greg, I even went past the body, my nose was bleeding, I think our entire scene is pretty much compromised!"

"So, does that mean our investigation depends entirely on what we get from the body?" Greg asked, looking ever more concerned.

"It looks like it," Nick said regretfully. "Go and see whether there's a security camera on the main road adjacent to the back alley. Maybe we'll be in luck and they've seen something we haven't."

"Brilliant," Greg laughed, "our entire investigation is dependent on a security camera. Archie's gonna have a field day."

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><p><strong>AN: Los Ángeles de la Muerte is the name of the gang which LVPD were pursuing. It's Spanish for "The Angels of Death."**

**As you can probably tell, a lot of this chapter was inspired by the Season 10 episode, **_**The Panty Sniffer**_**.**

**That is the end of Part 1 of the story, the second part will be up sometime tomorrow. Feel free to tell me what you thought of it and I hope you enjoyed the story and stay tuned for the rest of it! :)**


	2. Part 2 of 4

Brass peered through the interrogation room window at the large Hispanic man who Sara had attempted to 'seduce' at the nightclub earlier that evening. Sara herself had now showered and had dressed herself into a more formal attire, more suited to her job. Brass noticed the woman on the man's right talking to him frantically, the man didn't appear to be giving any notice to her at all; his beady eyes stared at the door transfixed, awaiting Brass to step inside and begin the interrogation. Brass knew the man wasn't scared, they'd met several times before and nervous was not a word to describe Juan Menard.

"Wait out here a moment," Brass said quietly to Sara. "I'll warm things up a little. That woman there," he pointed to Juan's attorney, "right piece of work she is, just you watch."

"So I just wait out here until...?" Sara faltered.

"I'll give you a signal," Brass said, mockingly putting his hand through his almost non-existent hair. Sara rolled her eyes and left to go and stand in the observation room. Brass checked to make sure he'd brought the appropriate files with him and confidently strode into the interrogation room.

"Jimmy!" Juan called out with delight, "how're you doing my man?" The attorney gave Brass a cold look as he sat down whilst Brass tried to ignore Juan's attempts to turn this into a casual conversation.

"Let's cut the crap, Juan," he said gruffly, "where were you on Tuesday night?"

"Don't answer that," the attorney hissed at Juan, she turned to face Brass giving him another cold stare which Brass could only liken to a vulture, a particularly ugly one. "Captain Brass, are you aware that you have no right to hold my client, especially given the methods which were used to bring him into custody?"

"Mrs Mothrot," Brass said bitterly, proudly displaying his disgust towards the woman.

"That's Mrs Mothert!" She intervened, appalled by Brass' blatant error.

"My bad," he muttered uncaringly, "anyway, I can assure you that the operation earlier this morning went through the appropriate paperwork and was signed by the..."

"I understand you used members of CSI to assist you," Mothert sneered, "who are not supposed to take part in such..."

"I can assure you ma'am, it's all approved here in the paperwork," Brass said tossing over a piece of paper, "signed by Mayor Grimmle himself. Whilst you are correct in thinking that CSI are not supposed to intervene with LVPD events such as these, it was necessary in this case. Juan knows all us cops, don't you Juan?"

"Jimbo here's my biggest buddy," Juan spoke cheerfully.

"I advise you to remain quiet Mr Menard," Mothert hissed. "But am I right in thinking that one member was taken in by CSI Stokes? He shouldn't be doing the duties of police..."

"CSI Stokes has been trained appropriately with LVPD in the past, his skills were necessary," Brass spoke up rapidly. "Besides, our very own Officer Mitchell bought Juan in, and I'm talking to Juan, so let's get back to business. Where were you Tuesday night, Juan?"

He sat back and confidently shrugged his shoulders, "same as every night, go to a few clubs with my boys, check out all the pretty girls." Brass gestured to Sara, signalling her to come into the room. The door opened carefully and Sara made her way to the table taking a seat next to Brass. Juan's eyes began to light up, "hey baby, you remember me?" He pulled up his sleeves revealing the many tattoos which lined it. "You looked sexier your little blue gown."

"Shut it," Brass said irritably, Sara pulled out a photo and passed it across the table to Juan. "You recognise this girl from your daily prowl?"

Juan studied the photo carefully. A young woman, in her early twenties lay dead, spread-eagled across the ground, a bullet wound in her head. What the woman was lying on alarmed Juan slightly, a cross had been painted on the ground, the woman's body positioned like a crucifix. Painted around the body, were large orange embers emitting from the cross, similar to the design on his chest.

"Never seen her before in my life," he declared, sliding the photo away from him.

"Wow, wasn't expecting that," Sara said sarcastically. "Let's see your Picasso then," Sara pointed at Juan's chest where the tattoo was situated, "come on, I know you're not shy."

"What physical evidence do you have which places my client at the scene," Mothert leered.

"The tattoo."

"Is that it?"

"Well I doubt it's coincidence. Did we mention she was also raped before she was shot? Several times? We found multiple semen donors, none of whom we got a hit off of in CODIS."

"Yeah," Brass continued, "and it just so happens that we don't have any members of Los Ángeles de la Muerte in our database."

"But that doesn't prove that my client was involved," Mothert protested.

"Rape and murder is not our thing," Juan spoke.

Brass looked at him surprised, "so calling yourselves The Angels of Death is just for show then?"

"I know some of our members have dealt with drugs or had violent histories, but there's good reason why we're not on record."

"Well we can prove your innocence if you give us a DNA sample," Sara said to him, taking out a swab.

"Go to hell bitch," Juan declared angrily, "you think I'm that stupid to think that I'll be out of here just by opening my mouth. I know what you people do with DNA, if I give in, I'm a marked man, I mean, you could pin me for just about everything."

"So there are other offences then?" Brass asked interested.

"I ain't saying nothing, Jim, and I know you can't hold me forever. In a few hours I'll be outta here, like Free Willy, riding the waves off into the sunset."

"We're done here," Mothert declared, she rose from the table and whispered into Brass' ear, "you don't stand a chance, you've got nothing."

Brass smirked, "well if we can't get anything from the big boss, we've still got six of his minions to talk to, whether they're dead or not."

* * *

><p>Greg put on a pair of scrubs and made his way to the morgue. Unlike many of his colleagues, he rather enjoyed visits to autopsy, having a secretly gruesome interest in forensic pathology. Whilst he wasn't one to dissect dead animals he'd find, he'd like to say he had a fondness to this part of the investigation and had he not gone down the DNA route, he'd have certainly considered becoming a coroner. <em>Or a rock-star<em>, he thought to himself.

His cell phone began beeping, someone had left a voicemail. Greg hesitated whether to listen to it or not, he hadn't received a letter for the past week now, they'd found a new method of communication, whoever they were. Greg took a deep breath and pressed 'one' to listen to his messages.

"_Hi Greg, it's me_," a cheerful female voice could be heard playing. "_Just rang to say that I'm still waiting for your call. Call back, okay_."

Greg closed the phone, relieved. It had only been Amy after all. In any usual case, whenever a woman had given him her number he'd be one to call straight away, but he knew there was something definitely odd about Amy Griffin. She seemed to know him, but he had no idea who she was. On the day he'd given her a lift home, he'd asked how she knew him, and she kept changing the subject. She'd even called him Hojem, and Greg could only think of two other people who called him that, his Papa Olaf... and them.

Greg figured he must be going mad, she was pretty, no, she was gorgeous and practically begging for him and _he_ was turning _her_ away. Greg guessed that maybe some of that was down to her being too suspiciously clingy but also, he felt a little wary with women since his encounter with Ellen earlier that year. _Get it out your head, Greg, they're not all out to get you_, he had to keep telling himself every time he kept thinking about it.

Shaking off his thoughts he passed through the double doors which led to the morgue where he noticed that Doc Robbins had just finished stitching up the body. "Greg," he said cheerfully, "I guess you'll want the reports from Mr Ellis."

"Fire away, Doc!" Greg replied, bearing a large grin.

"You weren't investigating the Joseph Huyt case were you?" Doc Robbins asked to which Greg shook his head, "well COD in both cases was exsanguination due to blood loss. Your victim was sliced open with a small blade precisely five millimetres wide which was identical to the blade used in the death of Joseph Huyt."

"That's a grisly way to go," Greg commented, "so the deaths of the other guy and Matthew Ellis are pretty much identical?"

"Not exactly," Doc Robbins said. "I found two noticeable differences between the cases. Take a look at the back of the neck, what do you see?"

Greg peered at the back of the man's neck; he noticed that there were slight burns which were dotted along it. "These look like taser burns."

"I also found some adhesive residue on his wrists and ankles, just like last time, only Joseph Huyt wasn't tasered."

"So do you reckon this guy fought back?" Greg asked.

"I didn't find defensive wounds on either body. Joseph Huyt was an able man; I reckon he could have easily fought off the attackers, which makes me think he was initially controlled in another way."

"How?"

"I never determined it, although when I did a preliminary tox on him I found nothing unusual, my guess, chloroform, that's metabolised quickly."

"Maybe they couldn't get any? Or they went for something more reliable," he noticed another mark on the back of the neck, "hey Doc; did you note the bruise on his neck as well?"

"That's something I was just about to point out, petechiae bruising, I deduced he had a pendant of some sort. Interestingly, when we spoke to Joseph Huyt's girlfriend, she noted that his Star of Joseph pendant was missing."

"So our killer likes to take souvenirs. You said that the other guy was Jewish, right? Nick found some ID in his wallet at the scene, I recall him belonging to a Baptist Church in North Las Vegas."

"I suppose you want me to talk about the ribs now then," Doc Robbins placed some x-rays on the board behind them.

"What about the ribs?" Greg asked. Doc Robbins passed him a photo showing the body on the autopsy table, from what Greg could see the rib cage had been prised open, exposing the chest cavity and internal organs inside. He began to pale as he realised a strange familiarity about the corpse.

"As you can see," Doc Robbins began talking through his findings, however to Greg, it was only background noise as he attempted to remember where he'd seen this before. "The fracture lines on the bone radiate away from the main source which indicate that these wounds were peri-mortem. Unlike last time where it appears the ribs were cut by the same tool used to slice the victim open, the wound track suggests something like a saw was used to separate..." Doc Robbins stopped talking for a moment, realising that Greg wasn't paying any attention. "Greg? Something wrong?"

"No," Greg looked up, giving Doc Robbins a slightly concerned look. "There's something I need to look up quickly." Taking the photo he walked briskly out of the morgue without saying a word.

"Greg?" Doc Robbins called out to him, but he received no response. "Oh well," he said tapping the dead body of Matthew on the shoulder, "it's just you and me Matty."

David poked his head round the corner of the office, "Hey! I'm here too!"

* * *

><p>Vartann received a page from Catherine, instructing him to meet her in the layout room as soon as convenient. The layout room, that generally meant it was case related and he was disappointed that probably means they wouldn't be able to have a one-on-one chat. It had been a while since he'd seen her, far too long, it appeared that they're days off appeared to not coincide with each other, and the one time they did both get a day off they had both been called in to work this very case.<p>

He was hoping to ask her to move in with him, he'd asked at the end of last year and she'd respectfully declined at that time and then the subject was never really brought up again. Maybe if they did live together they'd certainly see each other more, it would be convenient for both of them because they both worked nights and they had no interest in starting up a family between them, not when they both had grown-up children now.

"Detective! Detective!" A frantic voice called out to him, Vartann turned around and saw that the voice belonged to Norma Wainwright, the mother of Claire Wainwright, the victim. Standing next to her was Claire's younger brother, Lucius. Vartann looked at the two of them pitifully; he'd interviewed them both twice over the past week relating to Claire's death, back when they had no suspects. Now they had some in custody, he knew he'd have to give them the update. Norma looked at him pleading, "please tell me you've found the monsters who took my daughter."

"We believe to have found the perpetrators who are currently under interrogation," Vartann explained to them. "We're awaiting CSI to confirm this however."

"So you expect us to wait some more then," Lucius, the younger brother snapped, "we've waited two nights for information, that's long enough! Is this how you treat all your victims?"

Vartann frowned; this kid clearly had no idea how things were run around here, "with all due respect Lucius, "you're not the only one who's having to wait for answers here." He summoned a nearby officer standing by, "Officer Denison, could you brief the Wainwrights regarding progress through Claire's case?"

"I'm Officer Langley," the officer said, tiredly, obviously used to the fact they were often confused.

"You know everyone gets the two of you mixed round, I'm told I'm needed urgently, just fill them in with the details but don't mention any names."

"No problem Detective."

* * *

><p>"Archie!" Nick joyously walked into the AV lab patting the lab tech on the shoulder as he took a seat beside him. "Please tell me you've got something?"

"Nope," the lab tech replied sharply, continuing to run work for another case from Swing.

"Come on Archie, don't mess with me, we _always_ get something from A/V."

"I wasn't kidding, but I'll show you the only thing which stood out to me," he muttered bringing up a file from the surveillance camera overlooking the nightclub. "I analysed this footage from around nine am yesterday up to when you guys start arriving. The only vehicle which turned into that alley way was a GMC Savana at four fifty-eight pm. It pulls out of the alleyway two minutes later."

"Did you get any plates?"

"Nope, the camera angle's all wrong. I can tell you it's a first generation, built between ninety-six and o-two but that's all I've got, sorry."

"Damn there must be hundreds of those in Vegas alone, let alone elsewhere."

Detective Vega walked into the room, "I hear we've got a new slice 'n' dice case. I took a look into our previous suspect in Huyt's case, Geoffrey Nugent."

"And?" Nick asked hopeful.

"He's dead. Car accident, three weeks ago, Days handled the case."

"That's a reasonable alibi," Archie muttered, not looking away from his screen.

"Who else did we have?" Nick asked, trying to remember suspects from the previous case, "what about the crazy hobo?"

"Still in jail for lashing out at me," Vega commented, "and it seems implausible when you think about it. I heard Sanders is investigating as well, you checked on him recently?"

"Why, what's up with him?"

"I saw him alone in your office, frantically engaged at the computer, he didn't look to well."

"Yeah, well I hope he's found something because at the moment, we've got nothing."

* * *

><p>The layout room had been plastered with photos and documents relating to Claire Wainwright's case. The CSIs stood around it along with Detective Vartann discussing the case and identifying if there may have been another perpetrator.<p>

"Alright guys," Catherine called them all to attention, "let's run through the case again." There was an elusive groan from the rest of the members of the team at this announcement; they'd been through from the beginning several times now and it had begun to get tedious. "Claire Wainwright, twenty-two years ol, leaves her house on Tuesday night with a group of friends around seven pm."

"We talked to all her friends, they were all at the Tangiers, barman confirms they were there and denies seeing Claire," Vartann spoke. "We can rule them out."

"Claire says she's feeling tired and decides to go home early," Ray continues the story. "She leaves her friends at around ten pm and calls for a taxi."

"But the taxi never picked her up," Sara finished off for him, "the coroner puts her time of death between ten-thirty and eleven-thirty. Juan Menard claims they were out Tuesday night as well but that's as far as he's talking."

"I spoke with Julio Carne," Vartann spoke up. "He claims they were in Pigalle all night. I spoke with the bouncers, they confirm the gang were there but one of the guys got chucked out for getting a bit raunchy with one of the girls. They all left shortly afterwards."

"What time was that?" Catherine asked.

"He said around ten pm," Vartann answered.

"Pigalle is what, six or seven blocks away from where Claire Wainwright was found dead?" Ray spoke. "That's perfectly logical when considering the time frame."

"Okay," Catherine talked again, "the coroner concluded that Claire had been raped, she was errm, covered in semen," she remarked disgusted. "Selma spoke to me and said she'd found five donors and they weren't a match to the five friends who Claire went out with."

"She was also shot," Sara said, "but we didn't find a gun anywhere near the scene."

"Bobby Dawson determined the bullet was a thirty-eight calibre and that the pistol was most likely a Bersa Thunder Three-Eighty," Ray read the ballistics report. "I know it's flimsy, but that pistol originates in Argentina which happens to be where..."

"Yes Ray, that is flimsy," Catherine chuckled.

"Juan said something that murder and rape was 'not their thing,'" Sara pointed out. "That seems partially true, I mean, Los Ángeles de la Muerte have never been convicted of anything, although we have suspected large drug involvements, murder and rape is not on their repertoire."

"Hey!" Selma suddenly burst into the layout room looking giddy; Catherine could tell that she was jumping up and down a little with excitement. "I think I've got a breakthrough!"

"I hope this is good Selma," Catherine said.

"It is, trust me!" She talked quickly. "I decided to do some further analysis to your spunk samples..."

"Semen samples, Selma," Catherine reminded her.

"Sorry boss. Anyway, one of our guys has, how should I put it? He has a rather small army."

"Oligozoospermia," Ray said. "One of the main causes of male infertility around today."

"Yes, well I got a call from the hospital where one of our Backstreet Boys is staying. They did some blood tests and discovered a combination of Zinc, Vitamin C and trihydroxyflavone, which in combination are components of Semen Enhancement pills. The name of your hospital guy is Nicholas Ilsez, I reckon he's one of our five donors."

"Good work Selma," Catherine congratulated her, "Lou... sorry, Detective Vartann, could you and Ray go to Desert Palms, have a chat with this Nicholas Ilsez, I reckon we might have enough for a warrant for his DNA. I'm thinking if we can get one to cave, the rest will be dropping like flies."

* * *

><p>"What's up, G?" Greg looked up and saw Nick as well as Doc Robbins standing in the doorway of the office which he, Nick and Sara shared.<p>

"I think I've got a breakthrough with the case," he replied, trying to not sound concerned although it appeared that Nick and Doc Robbins saw right through it. Selma knew about his situation with the letters and now the voicemails and it would only be a matter of time before he'd have to speak with them about it. "I need to talk to you all about something."

"What, about the case? Home? Family?" Nick asked.

"Mainly the case." Greg took in a deep breath. "I've called in someone to help us with it."

"You did _what_?" Nick yelled at him with surprise. "Come on Greg, you know better than to do things like that without passing them through the rest of the team!"

"Don't worry, I'm going to tell you both everything, in fact, I'll tell the whole team."

"Is this related to why you left autopsy earlier?" Doc Robbins asked.

Greg nodded. "The method in which our two victims were killed is very similar to a method of execution said to have been used in Norse mythology."

"Norse mythology?" Doc Robbins asked confused.

"Yes. Well, not everyone believes this was used, but it has been widely documented, Papa Olaf used to tell me about it to freak me out sometimes. The execution was performed by cutting the ribs from the back of the spine, pulling them outwards to represent bloody wings. Then the victim would be cut open, and their lungs would be pulled out."

"But our victims ribs weren't cut at the spine, they were cut at the sternum," Doc Robbins commented.

"That was an alternative method; it was supposedly difficult to break them from behind so sometimes it was done from the other way. This execution was known as Blood Eagle, as represented by the bloody wings when the ribs have been pulled outwards."

"What's up Greg, usually when you get a breakthrough you're all joyous and happy, especially if it's related to your interests, Norse mythology should be right up your street!" Nick told him, confused by Greg's unnatural behaviour. "You seem a little deflated. What gives?"

Greg felt sick but he knew he'd have to spit it out at some point. "There's more. It's a long story but I'll just get to point quickly. Someone wants me dead."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: That was the end of Part two, I hope you enjoyed it! Part three will be up sometime tomorrow! The feedback so far has been fantastic! A massive thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, keep them coming! :)**

**I'd just like to put a little dedication to anyone affected by the heinous attacks in Oslo yesterday, as this story will delve into Norway a little I feel I should mention it. RIP to the 92 who lost their lives.**


	3. Part 3 of 4

**A/N: Just a little note regarding the subject matter. I understand that some things mentioned in this story may appear eerily similar to the new information regarding the attacks in Norway. I'd just like to say that this story has been planned for a while and the timing of its release is unfortunate. I'd also like to say that recent events have not in any way at all 'influenced' the direction of this story.**

* * *

><p>Nick and Doc Robbins looked at Greg, slightly bewildered. "Dead? Why would someone want you dead?"<p>

"Look I don't know," Greg said, pulling out the letters he'd been sent. "I've been getting these for around a month now." He passed them over to Nick and Doc Robbins who had a look at them. "It's in Norwegian by the way; I guess you won't understand what they say."

"What do they say?" Doc Robbins asked curiously.

"They started off as letters claiming that I was born into a family of traitors and that I should beg forgiveness for my betrayal of my people. I know, I have no idea either," he added as Nick looked at him with absolute confusion. "I'm only half-Norwegian for a start and I've never even been to Norway but they all seem to end with 'you better watch your back, Hojem."

"Isn't Hojem your mother's maiden name?" Nick asked.

"It sure is, and all of them have been addressed to Gregory Hojem, not Sanders. Then a couple of weeks ago they started escalating, saying that I must die for the crimes I've committed, etcetera. At first they started sending them to the lab but now I'm getting them in my mail and now they're leaving voicemails on my phone."

"Why didn't you tell us about these, Greg?" Nick asked. "We could have looked into it."

"You know what it's like here, you'd have started investigating and then a murder pops up, then another, then another and all the unimportant stuff gets put at the bottom of the pile and goes cold. Besides, I want this case, and I know about the lab policy of having a personal involvement into something."

"Yeah, but how many times has that rule been bent?" Nick chortled.

"Hang on," Doc Robbins started talking. "How does these Blood Eagle execution style murders relate to these letters you've been getting."

Greg took out one of the letters and pointed to a symbol at the bottom of one of the letters he'd been sent. "This represents a blooded eagle. The Blood Eagle was supposedly a Norse method of execution, these letters are being sent to me in Norwegian this can't be a coincidence! I've lived in Las Vegas what, twelve years now? The only Norwegian people I've seen here are either tourists or family members coming to visit."

"Does anyone know you've been getting these threats?" Nick asked anxiously, Greg didn't immediately respond. "Greg? Does anyone else in the lab know?"

"Yeah, Selma does," Greg said reluctantly.

"Selma?" Nick wasn't expecting the DNA tech who had been working there less than a month and if Greg didn't know Nick any better, he'd have been upset with Greg for not discussing these letters with him.

"Yeah, look, last week, I received another letter. This one had no writing, just... blood." Doc Robbins and Nick's expressions began to become even more concerned as the story gained depth. "I urrm... ran it through CODIS, I didn't find a hit. I ran it again but trying to find DNA in common with anyone on the database... my profile showed up."

"So, what does that mean then?" Nick asked.

"Papa Olaf died around a month ago. At the time, we all suspected it was old age, I mean; he was ninety-two years we all assumed it was a natural. I'm starting to doubt that a little."

"What's this symbol here?" Doc Robbins pointed to another symbol next to the bloody eagle on the bottom of one of the letters showing a red circle embezzled with a golden cross in the centre.

"That, is the reason I've called someone in for assistance with the case. I've been told it's a symbol of a dark chapter in Norway's history which goes back seventy years."

"Seventy years ago was nineteen-forty-one," Doc Robbins began calculating. "The height of World War Two in Europe. Wasn't Norway occupied by Nazis during the war?"

Greg nodded sombrely, "it's the emblem, not of the Nazi party but the Norwegian equivalent of the far-right wing fascist movement, that's known as the National Gathering."

* * *

><p>Sara and Vartann made their way towards the hospital room where Nicholas Ilsez was recovering from his injury. A police officer stood outside the door to his room and moved away when the two of them approached. Ilsez lay in the bed in the far corner, his left leg in a cast and elevated upwards. When the two of them approached he still appeared to be sleeping but Vartann was sure that he was only pretending.<p>

"Hey Nicky," he called out to the sleeping man. There was no response. "Nicky, come on, wakey wakey," he shook the man's shoulders who awoke immediately a look of fear and surprise imprinted on his face. "I'm Detective Lou Vartann, this is Sara Sidle from CSI. We've got a few questions to ask you."

"No, no," Ilsez groaned, turning his head away from the two of them. "I'm too tired come back later."

"Don't worry, you'll live," Vartann muttered patting Ilsez's broken leg, causing him to wince sharply. He pulled up a seat next to the patient and sat down next to him. He whispered into his ear, "now tell me what you know about the death of Claire Wainwright."

"Who?" Ilsez responded with a look of confusion on his face.

"You know who," Sara began talking. "The woman who you and your friends raped and then shot."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Ilsez protested again turning away from the two law enforcement officers. Vartann sneakily pulled back the hospital robe, revealing the tattoo on his chest which identified Ilsez as a member of Los Ángeles de la Muerte. "Hey! You know what that is, that's a violation of my privacy."

"Oh really," Vartann replied coily. "I don't recall doing anything like that; do you remember me doing something Sara?"

"I have no recollection of it," Sara shrugged.

"You better listen Mr Ilsez otherwise you'll be looking at some serious jail time." He pulled out a picture of Claire Wainwright's dead body, as they had found her at the scene. "See that graffiti," he pointed at the markings which Claire's body lay on, "you have that as a tattoo don't you."

"Yeah," Ilsez replied, "and... so what?"

"You were at the crime scene Mr Ilsez," Sara stated to him. "We know you raped Claire Wainwright, we found your semen on the girl's body."

"I swear I never touched that girl!"

"Are you having problems Mr Ilsez?" Vartann asked. "I understand you have a wife," Ilsez nodded slowly, "but you don't have any kids."

"We've been trying for a..."

"Yes, we know. We know you've also been taking tablets, trying to boost up the number of swimmers."

"The hospital kindly sent your blood reports to us," Sara explained to him. "You have a rather high amount of Vitamin C, zinc and trihydroxyflavene in your system. Semen enhancement pills." Ilsez began to shift uncomfortably in his bed. "As it so happens one of the semen donors is suffering from a low sperm count."

"That doesn't mean it's mine," Ilsez spoke up.

"I'm sure there aren't that many members in your gang which have it." She pulled out a slip of paper and presented it to Ilsez. "We have a warrant for your DNA and fingerprints." Ilsez looked at the paper in horror as Sara picked out a buccal swab. "Open up."

Ilsez paused for a moment and hesitantly opened his mouth allowing Sara to swab the inside of his cheek. Sara then took out some ink and a ten card, and began to print Ilsez's right hand.

"When we match your DNA to the sample of semen," Vartann began to speak. "And I mean _when_... you'll be arrested for the murder and rape of Claire Wainwright, in fact, you'll be serving twenty-five to life. Now you see, we're gonna give you an opportunity, because we know and you know, that your semen wasn't the only one found on the victim..."

"I'm not saying anything," Ilsez responded flatly, knowing what was coming next.

"Okay, well you're gonna be the one taking the fall... and your friends, ha, they won't care. Do you really think they'll care for you, do you really think they'll be visiting you every day. The thing is, you'll be locked up for the rest of your life and they'll all be roaming free doing as they please. Why should you take the fall for something you know you only played a small part in? Let me tell you this, Mr Ilsez, there is no honour among thieves."

"Okay, okay," Ilsez caved in. "I'll tell you. Yes, we were there, yes we tried to get her to have sex... but she needed a bit more encouragement..."

"Surely you know that no means no, Mr Ilsez," Sara spoke up angrily.

"Hey lady, it wasn't my idea. I swear I didn't put the bullet through her, that was Amando, but yeah, we were all there."

"Including Juan?" Sara asked.

"Yes, yes he was there too!"

"Okay Mr Ilsez, thanks for your help," Vartann finished jotting the notes down in his notepad. He tapped the man's broken leg again. "I hope you get better soon Mr Ildez... it'll mean you'll be in jail quicker."

* * *

><p>"Listen Juan," Brass told the man of the update. "Your buddies are admitting to being involved in Claire Wainwright's death and they all say you were there."<p>

"My client has specifically stated that he was not involved with the murder and rape of Claire Wainwright no matter what the other members say," his attorney Mothert declared.

"Listen Sandra. We've got confessions from members of Los Ángeles de la Muerte that they assaulted Claire Wainwright, they're all pointing at each other for the murder but that's five people who state that Juan was there..."

"Did you have to beat them to force their confessions out?"

"You seem a little desperate there, I'm sure you're beginning to enter a new low by accusing the LVP..."

"You will not be getting my client's DNA."

"Sandra," Juan spoke softly. "Look let's just get it over with."

"What are you doing Mr Menard?" Mothert hissed.

"Look, I'm fed up here, I want to go home," Juan explained. "You told me I'd be out within the hour and now it's been seven. Just get it over with, Jimbo."

Mothert groaned muttering, "don't blame me if you end up landing yourself in jail."

"You know what Sandra," Brass spoke up. "Take yourself outside have a rest. Me and Juan will sort the rest of it out."

* * *

><p>"Hey Stokes," Vega had to run to catch up with Nick as he briskly walked down the corridor. "I hear Sanders went all vigilante on us."<p>

"I wouldn't say vigilante," Nick said to him. "It was sort of his own investigation being somewhat linked to ours."

"I heard he hired an expert to assist us with the case. You're not going to try and let him take over now are you?"

"He's not trying to take over the case. And even if he is, this thing is way more complicated than we ever anticipated."

The two of them had arrived at the front desk for the crime lab where Judy was awaiting them. Stood next to her was a tall man around about sixty years old, yet he still had a rather youthful appearance about him. There were no wrinkles and his mop of hair was more of a brilliant silvery colour, rather than a shade of grey.

Judy smiled at the two of them and tried to introduce the visitor. "Urrm, Nick, this is Peter Gris... Grims... Gris..."

"Peter Grimsrund," the man named Peter politely corrected her.

"Sorry," Judy blushed. "Anyway, Peter's here to assist you on the Matthew Ellis and Joseph Huyt cases."

"Hello Mr Grimsrund, I'm Nick Stokes, CSI, it's a pleasure to meet you," Nick and Peter exchanged a friendly handshake.

"Hello Mr Stokes, Peter Grimsrund, I'm a historian and thanks for letting me lend you a hand."

"I think your expertise will prove to be useful for our investigation," Nick said to him. He noticed that Peter had a very strong accent which Nick assumed to be Norwegian given what they were potentially facing.

"Sam Vega, homicide detective it's a pleasure meeting you," Detective Vega also exchanged a handshake with the historian.

"If you'd like to follow us this way, we'll bring you up to speed with the case," Nick invited Peter to follow him to their office.

Nick noticed that Peter looked intensely intrigued with the crime lab, casually peering in as he watched Selma processing DNA from the Claire Wainwright case or Mandy looking at fingerprints from that same case. They passed the trace lab on the way to the office; Peter peered in, obtaining eye contact with Hodges who was processing a trace from a Swing shift case. Hodges gave him a suspicious look back before returning to his microscope.

"Peter!" A delighted cry called out as Greg noticed Peter entering the office. "I wasn't expecting you for another few hours."

"Lucky for you I happened to be in town, I got here as quickly as I could," Peter replied.

Nick and Detective Vega stood outside the office, watching the two of them engage in conversation. "They're awfully pally," Vega noted.

Nick nodded, "you seem suspicious."

"I'm not. I just notice they appear to know each other pretty well already."

"What's all this then?" Catherine came round the corner, noticing the huddle gathered in the doorway to the office shared by Nick, Sara and Greg. "Who's that guy with Greg?"

"Supposed expert on Norwegian history," Vega commented.

"Norwegian history?"

"Yeah, our case has entered a new dimension of weird," Nick admitted.

"I don't like him," another voice called out behind them. It was Hodges. "He looks funny, he sounds funny and he's buddies with Sanders. I don't trust him."

"Hodges, shouldn't you working on that case for Swing?" Catherine interjected. "CSI Brampton has been nagging me to tell you that she's still waiting for her trace evidence."

Hodges pulled a sour face and walked off, trace results in his hand.

"How's it going with the Claire Wainwright case?" Nick asked Catherine.

"We're getting there," Catherine said happily. "We've got one of our guys; we've got DNA samples from the rest of them. It's only a matter of time. Right, I'm off to get results. Good luck with your case."

"Thanks, I guess."

* * *

><p>"Okay Selma, tell me what you got," Catherine beamed at the DNA tech as she walked into the lab.<p>

"I've got good news, and I've got not-so-good news," Selma replied. "Which would you like first?"

"Good news please."

"Okay, the DNA from five of the seven members of Los Ángeles de la Muerte match the semen we found on Claire Wainwright's body. Mandy sent me the print results, the sixth suspect; the dead motorcyclist had his prints all over her clothes, the ones stained in her blood."

"Okay, so who's DNA or prints weren't found at the crime scene," Catherine asked tentatively, although she had a sickening feeling she knew who it would be.

"That's the bad news. Juan Menard, no match. None at all."

"Are you sure?" Catherine asked desperately.

"I triple-checked Catherine, that guy's prints were nowhere in that crime scene. I'm sorry."

"Okay, thanks Selma," she said disappointingly as she picked out her cell phone and called Brass.

"Brass," she heard him answer the phone on the other side.

"Jim, it's Catherine, DNA results came back. Six of the seven members were at that crime scene, we found no evidence of Juan Menard being there at all."

"What?" She heard Brass cry out frustratingly.

"I know, Selma triple checked, we don't have any evidence to put Juan Menard at the scene at all."

"We still haven't found the weapon yet have we? I'm sure if we find that then we'll get his DNA all over that."

"But we can't hold him for much longer can we? Besides, we can get the rest of them for murder. Seeing as nobody's admitting who shot Claire we can have them all charged with it, good old Felony-Murder rule."

"Yeah, yeah, okay. I'll go and do the appropriate actions then," Brass' tone sounded disappointed and dejected. "It's just I thought we finally had this guy and now, he's back on the streets."

"I thought we weren't supposed to take sides, I mean the evidence is, the evidence, there's nothing we can do about it."

* * *

><p>"Well well Jimbo, what did I tell you?" Juan chuckled as he was led away from LVPD by Brass. "Here I am, Free Willy, riding the waves into the sunset."<p>

"You know Juan," Brass whispered to him. "One day, you're gonna slip up, one day you'll not be so lucky and trust me, when that day comes you won't be seeing the outside of a prison cell ever again. Forget about being Free Willy, I'm gonna turn you into Shamu."

"You know what Jim. You don't scare me, I've slipped through your fingers plenty of times and boy, I'm gonna keep on doing it. There's only one bigger thrill than avoiding jail and that is pissing you off to the max. Jimbo, this won't be the last you see of me."

Brass simply gave out a low growl instead of causing a scene, whisking the man into the main foyer of LVPD. As they headed towards the exit, Brass heard an ear piercing shriek sound from a woman sat in one of the chairs in the waiting area.

"You're letting him go?" Mrs Wainwright shrieked storming up to the pair of them. "You're letting my daughter's killer get away?"

"It's okay honey, I didn't touch you..."

"Keep quiet Juan," Brass hissed at him.

"I'm very sorry for your loss Mrs Wainwright," Juan said in his gravest voice.

"How dare you!" Norma Wainwright shrieked, "how dare you offer your sympathy to the girl you savagely took aw..."

"Officer Langley, please could you take Mrs Wainwright and her son away," Brass called out over the hysteria which ensued within the small foyer. Langley nodded and restrained the frantic Norma Wainwright, taking her over to one side.

Juan stood back, smiling to himself as he admired the way he could still stir up trouble before feeling the firm grip of Jim Brass on his shoulder, driving him away from the commotion.

* * *

><p>"So let me get this straight," Nick spoke loudly as they talked through the case with Peter. "Some Norwegian Nazis have come over here, killed a ninety-two year old man, butchered two other people and started sending death threats to Greg. That seems like a really implausible MO."<p>

"They're not Nazis Mr Stokes," Peter reminded him. "They're fascists and if anything they've been living here for many, many years. Following the end of the Second World War, the National Gathering was disbanded and many of the party members were exiled. I guess some moved to America and still maintained their beliefs there. Norway as a country never embraced the concept of fascism, unlike in Germany where it had been allowed to kindle; the National Gathering had been forced upon the people when Germany invaded in nineteen-forty."

"One of my letters mentioned the name Quisling," Greg spoke up. "Who, I understand founded the National Gathering."

"That is correct and he led Norway during the inter-war years as a puppet government for Nazi Germany. He ended up being executed once the war ended, so I guess some of your 'pen pals' have some sort of bitterness towards those who oppose them."

"About the Blood Eagle style executions, are they symbolic?" Doc Robbins, who had pursued an interest into the case context and had joined them, asked.

"It looks to be that way, considering nowadays it's far more convenient to just shoot somebody. One aim of the National Gathering was to retain symbolic Norse traditions, although I dispute the use of the Blood Eagle during the Viking age, I guess these few radicals have chosen to embrace it."

"So you reckon that the letters and the murders are linked?" Nick asked.

"Yes, I do."

"What about the two victims then, why would they go after those victims? I mean, one's Jewish, Caucasian, a jogger who lived in Victorville. The other, African American, a Baptist, a businessman who lived in Vegas. My first thought was that they were hate crimes but you mentioned earlier that they're not like the Nazis and that the eradication of Jews and ethnic minorities was never on their agenda."

"What you've got to remember Nick," Doc Robbins piped up. "Is that a long-lasting bitterness can develop over time, particularly if you now live in a different society it's highly likely that your views could change regarding the environment around you."

"But why now?" Vega asked. "This just seems weird to lie in wait for seventy years and then start becoming a serial killer."

The room was silent for a moment; nobody seemed to think of a logical reason to answer that question. An idea swept into Nick's head as he remembered something he heard Greg say earlier.

"Greg, you seem to think that Papa Olaf was murdered right?" He asked tentatively. Greg nodded. "What date did he die on?"

Greg thought about it for a moment, thinking back to the previous month where he had returned to LA for the funeral. "June the... twenty-third I think."

Vega looked at Nick, "that was the day before we found Joseph Huyt's body and isn't Victorville on the way between LA and Vegas?"

"Right," Nick deduced. "Greg, you said that they referred to you as Hojem in the letters right?"

"Yep, I've already said it; I think they're after me for some reason."

"Has it ever occurred to you that the other two victims might be... you know... practice?"

Greg thought about the two victims, the gruesome nature of their deaths and immediately felt to feel sick to his stomach. He saw pairs of eyes transfixed upon him as the words '_why me?_' passed through his thoughts.

_You better watch your back, Hojem._

* * *

><p>It was unusually quiet in the foyer for LVPD. It had been so ever since the kerfuffle earlier. No reports for muggings, or attempted robberies, or assaults. It was almost pleasant in a way. The woman behind the reception desk immediately sat up as she saw a woman walk into the LVPD foyer, head dropped, the woman looked as if she was ashamed of something.<p>

"Hello, how can I help you?" The receptionist asked merrily.

The eyes of Norma Wainwright looked up and met the receptionist, her mascara had run down and her cheeks were swollen from tears. Taking a deep breath, she said to the receptionist morbidly, "I'd like to hand myself into the police. I've just killed a man."

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><p><strong>AN: The fourth and final part of the story will be up tomorrow. I hope you've enjoyed it and keep the reviews coming in! The feedback so far has been fantastic and I'm very grateful for it! Thanks for reading! :)**


	4. Part 4 of 4

Ray got out of the Denali and made his way over to the crime scene. As he ducked under the crime tape he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest and winced harshly bringing a hand to his chest, however to his relief, he realised the pain had subsided as quickly as it had come on. He was beginning to become accustomed to them now, experiencing them about four or five times a week. His doctor had told him they were perfectly normal with the medication.

When Ray finally reached the car he'd already found Sara taking photographs of the entire scene. David was crouched by the driver's door inspecting the body which sat inside. Upon seeing Ray, David looked up and smiled at Ray.

"Single GSW," he said in his usual cheerful manner. "Right between the eyes."

"I don't think we'll have any trouble identifying the body," Ray told him as he looked at the familiar face which sat lifeless in the driver's seat, a neat bullet hole where his 'third eye' could have been located. "Juan Menard, forty-four years old, leader of the gang known as Los Ángeles de la Muerte."

"_Formerly_ known as Los Ángeles de la Muerte," Sara corrected him. Reminding Ray that they had taken out the main gang ringleaders in one swift shift.

"The bullet's a through and through," David commented, lifting the head forward and looking at the rear exit wound. "It looks like your bullet's embedded in the headrest."

"We'll have the car towed back to the lab," Sara stated.

"What's your estimated TOD?" Ray asked David.

"Liver temp was ninety-seven point five. He's been dead less than an hour."

"I don't get it," Sara said, perplexed. "Norma Wainwright admitted to killing him, why are we continuing to investigate."

"We tested her hands for GSR," Vartann had suddenly appeared behind Sara. "We didn't find any."

"Maybe she washed it off?"

"If you're going to turn yourself in to the authorities, you don't wipe away the evidence," Ray stated. "I can only think of one reason for someone to turn themselves in for a crime they didn't commit."

Sara nodded, catching on to what Ray was thinking. "She's covering for someone."

* * *

><p>Detective Vega knocked quietly on the door to a small house located in North Las Vegas. Even though it was now seven-thirty, Vega knew not to burst in loudly at this time in the morning as he thought back to the black mark against his name he had obtained several years ago. A tired woman answered the door; she was wearing a sleeping mask on the top of her head and dressed in a robe and slippers. She didn't look pleased to see the two of them at all.<p>

"Can I help you?" She asked irritably.

"Mrs Ellis, I'm Detective Sam Vega, homicide and this is CSI Nick Stokes, we're here to ask you a few questions surrounding your husband's death."

"Don't you guys communicate at all?" Vega could sense the annoyance in her voice. "I already talked to some police guys earlier and I just need some time to think over what's happened."

"Ma'am, we believe to have found a new lead in the investigation," Nick hadn't entirely told her the truth. In reality, they were acting on an assumption and a pretty big one at that, however even if it was a little sketchy, it was certainly something.

"Go on then," she reluctantly invited the two officers inside and ushered them into a sitting room. The room they saw was filled with many bouquets of flowers and pictures of the Ellis family in far happier times. This was a disadvantage of visiting a victim's family home after they had been informed of their death; it made the guilt feel even worse. "So you gonna sit around all day or are you gonna ask me something?"

"Mrs Ellis, was your husband receiving any threats at all prior to his death?" Vega asked. "Through letters, phone calls, anything which suggests someone had a grudge against him?"

"Apart from a few graffiti problems with kids down at the church, none at all. Matthew was not the kind of man to stir up trouble, I can't think of anyone who would want him dead, let alone murdered in the most brutal way possible." Vega felt certain he saw a few tears descending down Mrs Ellis' cheeks.

"Did your husband ever mention this man at all? His name is Joseph Huyt," Nick handed a picture of Joseph Huyt to the bereaved widow who shook her head.

"Never seen or heard of him."

"What about this man, Greg Sanders?"

"Now _he_ deserves a place in hell after what he done to Marlene and her bo..."

"CSI Sanders was excused for that incident, just answer the question. Has your husband spoken of him recently?" Nick growled in anger which invoked surprise from both Vega and Mrs Ellis.

"No, no he hasn't."

"Okay Mrs Ellis, we've got just one more question," Vega spoke, "did your husband wear a necklace or a pendant of some sort?"

"Yeah, he always wore a pendant with a cross on it; he'd never go out without it. Why's that relevant?"

"We believe it was taken from him, the first man died in a similar manner to your husband. He was Jewish and his Star of David pendant was also taken."

"So?"

"It helps us with our investigation. Thanks very much for your time Mrs Ellis."

"We're sorry for your loss..." Nick began before he was interrupted by Mrs Ellis and shooed away from the home.

"Don't give me that nonsense," she ushered them out the front door, slamming it behind them.

"Well, at least something good came out of that," Nick sighed.

"What would that be?"

"Well, we can confirm our cases are connected and secondly, none of the victims knew each other at all, I'm starting to think that Joseph Huyt and Matthew Ellis are just random targets."

"But why are they so focused in getting Sanders then?"

"Like I said earlier, I think the previous two victims, were just practice."

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><p>Greg wiped his eyes wearily as he continued to search online for any more information regarding the National Gathering and the Blood Eagle which could be useful in any way. The information he could find wasn't any more helpful, as it highlighted stuff which Peter had already told them about. He managed to find more research on some Norwegian websites; however he knew he didn't know the language well enough to understand what it was saying.<p>

An unceasing thought had made its way to the front of his mind. He was a target, or maybe, he was the target. He pondered on what Nick had said earlier how the two victims had just been practice. Practice? Was his fate destined to be more horrific than the two who had already died before him?

He had to hope that they would find the perpetrators before he became their next victim, but forensically; they had nothing, except possibly a white van which could be found anywhere else in Vegas. He hoped they were wrong, he hoped that the deaths and the letters were unrelated, or that it was all just one horrible nightmare.

"I'm going to be taking off now," he heard Peter say behind him. "I fly back to Los Angeles on Sunday morning, so if you need my help before then, just give me a call again." Greg simply nodded.

He wanted to say something like 'thanks for your help,' but instead he found himself asking more questions. "Why me? What have I done which has supposedly betrayed my ancestry?"

"Peter sighed and looked at him gravely. "If I honestly knew the answer to that, I would tell you. I'm sorry."

Greg had nothing more to say to him. Peter wordlessly took his coat and his suitcase and silently left him to carry on his research. For the next hour or so, Greg sat there, just pondering on the recent events. It seemed every step they made in the investigation took them a step further away from the truth. With a groan he folded his arms on the desk and rested his head on top of them, allowing his frustrations to send him to sleep.

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><p>"Catherine!" Mandy caught a flash of red hair walk past the prints lab and she dashed outside to catch her up. "Catherine, I've got print results back from the gun used to kill Juan Menard."<p>

Catherine turned round and smiled at her, "go on then, let's see them."

"Well the prints on the barrel of the gun all belong to Norma Wainwright," Mandy reported to her, "however, I found a partial on the trigger and it's not a match to Norma."

"So she is covering for someone then," Catherine concluded seeing satisfied with the results. "I'll go and pass the results on to Brass."

"Wait, wait there's more!" Mandy called out to her as she turned away. "Selma found some epithelials on the trigger, most likely dried sweat. Not a match to Norma Wainwright but our donor is male and has seven alleles in common with her."

Mandy saw Catherine think for a moment and then her eyes lit up, as she assumingly was able to finally figure something out. "Now that makes sense," she told herself. "Thanks Mandy," she added, taking away the results off her hand and dashing off in the direction of PD.

Mandy herself began to turn around and head back to her lab when she realised she had just knocked into somebody causing them to drop their papers. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" she panted as she frantically bent down to pick up the papers accidentally knocking heads with the person she'd just bumped into.

"Whoa, watch it Webster!" Nick teased, helping her pick up the papers he'd dropped.

"Oh god Nick, you're bleeding," she cried out as Nick realised that his nosebleed had been spurred on by the knock.

"Don't worry about it Mandy, it'll stop in a bit," he assured her.

"I'm so sorry!" She began blushing as Nick stood up again.

"No sweat, no sweat, I was on my way out of here anyway."

"I thought you were still working the Matthew Ellis case?"

"Yeah, well we kind of don't have many leads for it, and I need rest now... and food, so I'm calling it a day. You know, you should do the same you look exhausted."

"I was on my way out actually," she admitted grabbing her handbag.

"Well let me escort you back to your car then," Nick said, in a mockingly posh voice as he grabbed Mandy by the arm and frogmarched her out to the car park.

* * *

><p>"Why is Lucius here?" Norma Wainright demanded to Brass and Ray who sat on the other end of the table in the interrogation room. Norma was wearing the standard orange clothes, it was obvious that she had been crying recently again. Her fifteen year old son, Lucius, sat beside her, his eyes not making any contact with the officers who sat before him.<p>

"Mrs Wainwright, I think you know why Lucius is with us," Brass replied firmly.

"We found your prints all over the gun," Ray told her. "However the only print we found on the gun is not a match to yours. Furthermore, we found DNA on the trigger, nerves can cause abrupt perspiration. This DNA was not a match to you, but you have seven allele markers in common."

"What you might call 'protecting someone', is what we call 'Obstruction of justice,'" Brass explained to the woman who seemed unnerved at what Brass was saying. "It also comes with a maximum of twenty years in prison. Is that what you want?"

Everyone in the room knew that the last sentence was not aimed at Norma Wainwright as a deathly silence descended upon the interrogation table, only interrupted by the ticking of Ray's watch. Norma opened her mouth to speak but she was interrupted.

"I did it," Lucius spoke up firmly.

"Lucius, what are you doing?" Norma questioned her son's actions.

"I said I did it. I took the gun from your bedroom door, I followed him away from the police station, I found him parked on the side of the road and I shot him. I shot him point blank straight between the eyes." He recapped his story tears began to well up in both his and his mother's eyes. He accentuated the way he had killed in cold blood and felt no remorse in what he had done.

"Please, don't! I already lost your sister this week; I can't lose you as well!"

"I did it for her mom!" Both of them began to bawl as they realised they probably would never see each other again besides behind a glass screen. "I did it for Claire!"

"Please captain, take me instead!" She begged to the homicide detective.

"I'm sorry Mrs Wainwright, I can't do that," he replied sorrowfully.

"We're sorry for your loss Mrs Wainwright," Ray tried saying pitifully trying to ease the situation although deep down he knew that the words meant nothing as he observed the weeping Wainwright's last moments that were worth living.

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><p>Sara returned from the ballistics lab having dropped off the bullet she had extracted from the headrest of Juan Menard's car. As she entered the locker room a muffled bang could be heard as Bobby fired a bullet from the gun which Norma Wainwright had handed in. She sat down on one of the benches and pulled out her cell phone. No new texts. No missed calls. She exhaled deeply as she put her phone back in her pocket and stared blankly at the lockers opposite her.<p>

"Where is he at the moment?" A deep, soothing voice echoed into the locker room, Sara wiped away her eyes, not wanting anyone to see her in this state, and turned to see Ray standing in the doorway.

"Caracas," she replied, trying not to sound bitter. "He's out there for at least another two weeks, depending on how quickly the bugs... do their thing."

"Do you miss him?"

"Every day," she replied honestly. "I come home from work every morning, hoping he'll be waiting there for me, dressed in that silly fishing hat. I wake up every morning hoping he'd have come home during the day and slept on the couch, not wanting to wake me up. Or that I'll get a call from him telling me to go and pick him up at the airport."

There was a momentary silence only disturbed by another muffled bang from the ballistics lab. Ray spoke up finally, "we closed the case. The son confessed to killing him."

"I know we're not supposed to take sides in an investigation, but... I can't help but feel sorry for the Wainwrights."

"I know what you mean, sometimes good people have to pay the price, and it's just... tough," Ray found himself lost for words and said nothing more. The two of them prepared to go home for a minimal amount of sleep. It had been a particularly long shift which had started with the stake-out, yet that felt like a hundred miles away.

"Guys, I don't mean to stop y'all from leaving," Bobby Dawson poked his head through the doorway. "Come and take a look at this."

Bobby whisked them back to the ballistics lab and gestured for Ray to look under the microscope.

"The bullet on the left is the round I fired from the Wainwright's pistol," Bobby explained to them as they compared the bullets under the microscope. "The bullet on the right is the round extracted from Juan Menard."

"The striations don't match," Ray commented, "they're not even close!"

"Are you sure?" Sara asked dumbfounded.

"I'm positive Sara, I double checked and everything," Bobby said, picking up the Wainwright's gun. "This pistol was not used to kill Juan Menard."

* * *

><p>"Okay Lucius, I'm tired, I'm sure you're tired, my CSIs have clocked out on overtime so let's get this over with quick okay?" Brass spoke to the teenager firmly, indicating he was not playing games.<p>

"Look, I already told you, I killed the bastard!" Lucius hollered back.

"No, you didn't," Brass talked him down, passing over a photo of the bullet comparisons which Bobby had pulled up. "The bullet on the left was your bullet, the one on the right, the one used to kill Juan Menard. The grooves on the bullets don't match, which tells me that you didn't kill him." Brass glared at Lucius who skulked back in his seat. "Come on Lucius, cut the crap and tell me what really happened."

"I wanted to be a hero," he whined, reluctantly admitting he was not Juan's killer. "I went out for a walk after we saw you release him, I saw him dead, in the car at the side of the road. I was angry that someone had beaten me to him, so I went home, took out my mom's pistol. Fired a round in the sky and told her I'd killed him, hoping she'd go to the police."

"But why Lucius, why would you want to make yourself into something you're not?"

"I wanted to be the hero! I wanted to be the one who avenged Claire; put that bastard in his rightful place. The guy who really shot him, he shouldn't be imprisoned, he should be honoured, when he dies, _he_ deserves a place in Arlington, _he_ deserves a public holiday after him, he's my hero."

"I've never had much time for heroes myself," Brass admitted to him, Lucius simply sat in front of him scowling. "You know what I want you to do? I want you to follow Officer Langley, I want you to call your mom to take you home and I want you to stay at home okay, no more heroes' business."

"But..."

"Trust me, when you're older, you'll be thanking me," Brass concluded the interrogation and directed Lucius to be escorted away by Officer Langley.

He left the interrogation room and yawned deciding that it was time to call it a day. Catherine suddenly emerged from the observation room and approached him. "What now?" she asked.

"What now?" He repeated the question. "Now, I'm gonna go home, put my feet up and grab myself a nice beer and you should do the same. You've been working eighteen hours now and you know Ecklie's gonna be pissed at handing you your overtime cheque."

"But what about the investigation?"

"Lay it to rest Catherine; we'll carry on with it tomorrow okay?"

She paused for a moment before agreeing reluctantly, "fine. I'll see you tomorrow then."

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><p>Greg was awoken by a high-pitched chirping sound. He opened his eyes, assuming he would wake up in his apartment and shoo the birds away from his balcony but to his surprise he found himself waking up behind his desk back at the lab. The chirping sound had actually been a ring, signalling that Greg had received a text; he opened his cell phone and saw that it was from Amy Griffin. Deciding that the text could wait he stretched and had a look at his watch.<p>

_Nine pm._

Nine pm? He realised he must have been asleep at his desk for at least eight hours and that he would be back on shift in just three more.

"Oh good, you're awake," a distinctive Irish voice called out to Greg. He turned and saw that it belonged to Kayleigh Monaghan, the detective he had worked with on a case two weeks previously concerning a woman who had been flattened by her fridge. "Come on, I've been told to take you home."

"Thanks for the offer," he replied. "But there's no point really, I'm back on shift in three hours..."

"I've been told you have tomorrow off, come on, you're going home, get your things ready we're leaving in five minutes."

Greg opened his mouth to protest but he knew it would be no use. With a bit of effort, he heaved himself out of his chair, closed down the computer and locked his office. He followed Monaghan to her car, the case he had been working on earlier wiped away from his mind.

* * *

><p>It was dark by the time Greg had returned to the apartment. He thanked Monaghan for the ride home and made his way into the apartment. The lights in the corridors had been switched off, and his ascent up the staircase to the fourth floor was mostly in darkness, but this was now a usual routine for Greg as he made his way back to his apartment.<p>

He fumbled with his keys for a moment but found that the door opened surprisingly easy. When he entered the apartment he found the lights were off and the room was freezing. _Damn it_, he thought to himself, _forgot to turn the air con off_. He ditched his crime kit on the table and headed to the kitchen for some food. He opened the fridge and decided that there wasn't enough in there for anything proper. He'd order pizza instead.

At that moment, the home phone began ringing. Groaning, he presumed it was from the crime lab asking to do another shift despite just being sent home. _Hold on_, _they never call the home phone_. He answered the phone cautiously. "Sanders."

"You better watch your back, Hojem."

A sudden wave of dread hit him full on and he slammed the phone down. _The door is always a bitch to open_. He dashed to his bedroom. _I never leave the air conditioning on_. He pulled out the pistol which lay in his bedside drawer. _I restocked the fridge yesterday_. He cocked the gun and headed warily to the one room he hadn't checked yet.

He burst open the bathroom door and stepped inside pointed his gun around the room. There was nobody in there, at least, nobody who could harm him. Greg looked on in horror as he saw the Blood Eagle slumped up against the bathroom wall. The body's back was turned, but blooded silver wings had sprouted from the sides. Slashes were apparent on the back and if Greg could see its face, he would be sure it would be screaming in pain.

The walls of Greg's bathroom were decorated with words spelled out in a crimson red 'paint'. He thought he heard a small noise sound out behind him as he read the words embezzled on his walls.

DON'T. TURN. AROUND.

He heard the noise again which made the hairs on the back of Greg's neck stand on end. The noise got louder, whatever it was was approaching. Greg took a deep breath, it was now or never. Tightening his hold on the trigger of his pistol, he turned around...

...

...

...

...

...

**TO BE CONTINUED**

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><p><strong>AN: I bet you all hate me at this moment for leaving this story on a cliffhanger. Well, you're gonna hate me even more, because I've timed this perfectly to coincide with my vacation. Yes, unfortunately this does mean that you're going to have to wait longer for the next part! :P This story will be continued in **_**Sirens**_** (1x07) which will be published on ****Friday, August 12****.**

**I know, I deserve to be Blood Eagled for it, but I hope you enjoyed the story and keep the reviews coming in everybody, the feedback for this story has been fantastic and I'm very grateful to all of you for it! **


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